Lab Rats: InOrganic
by AlphaBetaSoup
Summary: Breeana Liddell may have gone down in flames, but Bree Davenport rose up from the ashes. AU/ALPHA


_:::** A/N** :::_

**Hello. I'm the _ALPHA _portion of _AlphaBetaSoup_. Some of you may regonize me from the _Kickin' It _Archive, but many of you may not, so I'd just like to say thank you to all those who chose to read this FanFiction. I really do appreciate it. I hope to see some reviews from a couple of you. For those who are unfamiliar with me, there is a longer A/N at the bottom. I hope you guys all enjoy the first chapter of _InOrganic_! Please keep in mind that this FanFiction _is _rated T and will be a little dark at times. Otherwise, happy reading!**

::: I do not own _Disne__y__ XD's_ Lab Rats :::

* * *

:::**_ wide awake_** :::

* * *

The lights were bright, and blindingly so.

The lights burned my weary eyes as I struggled to pry them open.

My body was weak. My eyes, they felt so heavy, as if someone had sewn a thousand weights to them. Opening them was not a task I was ready to take on while so weak, yet it was not a task I could give up on either. My thirst for sight was insatiable and would continue its state of insatiability until I regained my sight once more.

I hated having my vision obstructed. The blindness reminded me of a time when I could not see, and the darkness reminded me of a time I saw no light. The _Dark Ages_, as my brothers had come to call it.

Draining the remains of my limited energy, I finally pried my eyes open, subjecting them to the bitter pain of having to look directly into the lights. The brightness of the lights burned far more than it had when my eyes were half-lidded, and I could feel a headache coming on.

What had once been a dull throb at the nape of my neck had flourished into a more incessant throbbing at the back of my head, like I'd smacked my head against something or vice versa, and there was no doubt in my mind that it would continue to get worse, making my current pain almost intolerable without the aid of some serious painkillers.

I groaned at the thought as I made an attempt to shield my eyes away from the lights, only to find that I _couldn't_. My arms, neither of them, would move.

Dread rapidly filling the pit of my stomach, I fought against my fatigue and forced my head to readjust itself so I could assess the damage done to my arms; to see if the bomb had blown them to smithereens or if they were still perfectly intact and my back was the problem. While I _was_ thankful that neither of the options I'd opened to were the case, the answer I found was no better. In fact, it could even be argued that it was far _worse_.

Various tubes and wires clung to my lean frame, leading upwards and beyond my line of sight. My arms, my legs, my _body_—all was tightly strapped down, restrained, and all was stripped of any form of clothing. In other words, I was absolutely naked and strapped down to some cold, metal table.

I began to panic.

Beads of sweat rolled down my face as I struggled against my restraints, grunting quietly as I twisted and pulled against the taut leather. I became more and more hysterical as it became clear that there was no way I was going to be able to pull myself free from the binds and cover myself up from invisible eyes. Heart rate accelerating, I could hear my blood rush through my ears as the gap between my inhales and exhales shortened in my panic.

A sharp yelp escaped my lips as pain shot through my left wrist, probably as a result of the violent tug I'd given it. The pain was intolerable for the first few seconds, but it quickly dulled. From past experiences with my brothers, I could guess that I'd either dislocated my wrist or had done something equally as painful to it.

Regardless of the pain, I continued to struggle against my restraints, my desperation for freedom consuming me. Sweat streaked my temples as I continued my weak struggles, tears dotting my sight as my distress and frustration quickly mounted. Ragged came my breath as my lungs constricted in panic, causing me to become lightheaded. The lack of oxygen made me weak, more so than I already was, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

I was not and could not give up. I was going to fight and I was going to fight until I could fight no more, until I was finally stripped of the remains of my energy—just like last time.

Without warning, from the darkest corners of my mind, a flood of suppressed memories surfaced. All the memories I'd tried so damn hard to forget, all the memories it'd taken me so _long_ to forget, flooded my mind, overwhelming me. I felt like I was drowning; drowning in the sea of my own memories. The scars on my body burned like freshly opened wounds.

Screams sliced through the silence, shattering it like glass. Loud, high pitched shrieks bounced off the walls and reverberated around me. For a moment, I wondered who was screaming. For a split second I wondered who else was experiencing the pain and fear I was in. But I quickly realized that the person screaming like an extra in a horror cinematic was _me_.

I was the horror cinematic extra gone rouge.

Suddenly I heard voices—several of them. A tsunami of hurried whispers overwhelmed the steady hum of what I assumed to be one of the machines I was hooked to and soon overwhelmed the annoying incessant beeping of one of the other machines as well. In unison the voices rose as they quickly became more and more frantic. Soon I couldn't tell one voice from another, let alone my own.

Another piercing scream escaped my dry, cracked lips as the lights which had once burned my sensitive pupils were unexpectedly pulled away, subjecting me to darkness. My fear and panic heightened in the darkness, I continued to scream, my screams overpowering the voices which had also grown in volume as my own screams had.

As I prepared to emit another loud shriek, a face materialized before me.

Though tears blurred my sight, I could see that a surgical mask covered all but the eyes. Warm brown eyes bore into mine, dark eyebrows arched in worry. Muffled by the mask, the person shushed me, wordlessly begging for me to calm down, but I couldn't. I couldn't stop my screaming just as I couldn't stop reliving my nightmares, no matter how badly I wanted to.

A sigh escaped the surgical mask as the person left my line of vision, only to reappear once again with a heavy, silver mask in hand.

_Anesthesia_

I frantically shook my head and whimpered as the icy cold mask was pressed against my face, covering both my nose and mouth. I could smell the sleep inducing gas as it was forced through my nostrils. It smelled like sugar cookies, the type my mom used to make for my brothers and me before she died.

My eyes wide but quickly growing heavy with sleep, I stared at the person as they firmly held the mask over my face. The person looked at me, our eyes locking.

I could feel myself slipping, falling under the influence of the gas. The last thing I heard before I finally gave in to my urges and let myself fall into the sea of blackness were the only words the person ever said to me.

"I'm _so_ sorry,"

:::

_Pain_

All I could feel was pain.

Although most of the pain was localised at the nape of my neck, my whole body ached as though I'd been beaten with a marshal's baton, or had been jumped by some _very_ unfriendly _Renegades_ for some food or water.

In all my years, I couldn't recall a time I'd _ever_ been this sore.

The closest I'd ever been to this type of excruciating pain had been following a skiing accident up in the mountains. The accident occurred during one of the many winters my family had spent in Aspen, Colorado at our winter home, years before the _Raids_.

It had been my first time skiing, since I'd received a pair of skis from my dad for my eighth birthday against my mom's wishes.

After weeks and weeks of lessons, I'd finally been cleared for the Bunny Hill, something I'd been extremely proud of as an eight-year-old, and under my dad's watchful eye, I'd made my first attempt at skiing down a slope on my own.

For a first timer, I'd done rather well, and was even praised for the skill I'd used going down the slope later on. Unfortunately, my first attempt was cut short when my uncoordinated, older brother crashed into me, sending us both flying through the air and rolling down the mountain, only stopping when we slammed into a soft, artificial tree and were buried in snow.

It was needless to say that both he and I spent the remainder of the trip black and blue, bruised in places we never knew could be bruised, covered in multiple icepacks at one time.

The pain I'd experienced then was only somewhat relatable to the pain I was currently in.

With a groan, I pried my eyes open, never wanting to have them closed too long as long as I was conscious since I disliked having my vision obstructed, and was immediately blinded.

Sunlight streamed through the blinds of the partially opened window at my bedside, filling my sensitive eyes and making it difficult to see. The sheer curtains breezed around as a soft wind caressed its gossamer.

Squinting against the sunlight, I took in my surrounds, uncertain of where I was.

I was no longer in surgery—I knew that much.

The walls were no longer white, but were a rich, warm shade of yellow lined with various images of white peonies in bloom. The incessant buzzing and beeping of the undeniably ancient machines in the surgical room had long since vanished, and in its place was the serenity of peace and quiet. My limbs had been freed of their bonds and I could now move them as I pleased. I no longer lay on a cold, metal table, but now in a warm, soft hospital bed. The crisp, white sheets smelled very much like the laundry detergent my mom used to use when I was younger. I used to lie in bed for hours after my mom had changed my bed sheets, savouring the sweet yet tangy scent of the clean laundry.

I myself smelled like antiseptic. My hands and nails were clean, as were my long, dark locks. The rest of my body appeared to be clean as well, suggesting that someone had bathed me when I was unconscious before dressing me in the crisp, white hospital gown all patients were expected to wear for the duration of their stay. Instead of dwelling on the fact that someone had touched me while I was unable to fight back, I chose to be thankful.

It had been a long time since I'd been this clean.

Moving along, my eyes settled on my left arm. An IV drip sank deep into my inner arm and a hospital bracelet clung to my frail, bandaged wrist. I'd been _coded_. I peered at the bracelet, reading the numbers which lined my barcode. The numbers meant nothing to me so I soon abandoned them, finding no reason to continue reading if there was no meaning.

"I see you're up,"

At the sound of the voice, I sat up quickly, but I soon regretted it.

All the blood rushed down from my head with a "_swoosh_" as the first wave of vertigo overcame me. With the vertigo came the nausea as the pounding behind my eyes intensified with each painful pang. Suddenly, my stomach lurched and I leaned over in pain with a soft groan. I whimpered like a baby as saliva began to pool in my mouth.

I recognized this feeling; I was about to throw up.

But before I could perform the sacrilegious act all over my crisp, white sheets or the newly waxed linoleum beneath me, a pink, plastic bowl was shoved under my chin and my hair was tugged back from my face. With a groan I threw up, coughing and spluttering with each painful heave. My throat burned as pure acid slicked my vocal cords. I hadn't eaten in days, my stomach was empty, and the only thing coming up was the bile which had been pleasantly residing in my stomach until its untimely eviction.

Upon finishing, the pink bowl was immediately whisked away and a tall glass of water appeared within my line of vision.

"Would you like some water?"

I hesitated before taking the glass into my shaking hands.

The glass was cold. Condensation lined its sides, pearling and dripping. Ice cubes bobbed in the water like diamonds, glistening in the light. The water looked clean and bright, transparent in every way. It had been so long since I'd had water this clean.

I downed the water in one go, savouring the taste as it ran down my throat and eased the pain the throwing up had caused. The water felt unnaturally good against my burning throat.

"Here, let me refill this." The glass was gently tugged from me and a couple moments later it was pressed into my hands once again. I accepted the water graciously, muttering a quiet _thank_ _you_ before I took a tiny sip of the pleasurably cool wetness.

This time taking my time with the water, I took slow sips. As I took my slow sips, I quietly examined the person who had extended their kindness to me, offering me water and holding my hair when I'd been sick. It was a woman; a nurse.

She had a youthful appearance, a round face and innocent blue eyes. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a loose bun at the top of her head, escaped tendrils curling at her temples and the nape of her neck. She wore white shoes and pink hospital scrubs with little teddy bears all over them. I squinted at the tag pined to her chest. It read, _M. Wight_.

Sensing that she was being watched, the nurse looked up from her clipboard and smiled. "Hello there, sunshine. How are you feeling now?"

I contemplated my answer. "Still dizzy...nauseous...like I've been run over a couple times by army tanks...and have been repeatedly bashed in the head with a baton."

The nurse made an attempt at suppressing her smile, but I could see the corners of her mouth snake upwards in response to my rather dark answer. "Well, aren't you imaginative? Your body has gone through a lot of stress, so it is to be expected that you'd feel ill as a result. Regardless, I am very sorry that you feel so terrible. I may be able to give you some morphine however I have a couple questions I need to you answer for me. Questions I can't ask when you're under the influence."

I eyed the nurse. "What type of questions?"

The nurse sifted through the papers she'd clipped to her board. "A couple personal questions, that's all. You may have noticed soft skin, a scar, at the nape of your neck. This is because we had to operate on your brain. The questions are just to assess your memory. We already ran some tests on your brain so we know that the coma didn't affect your speech, motor skills or any other bodily functions. However, science has yet to create a scan for memory loss."

I nodded slowly. I had been in a _coma?_ "...Okay."

Another smile spread across the nurse's face, revealing daintily placed dimples. "These questions will be extremely easy. I promise. This very first is very straight forward. If you remember this, then I believe that you'll pass this test with flying colours. Are you ready? The first question is—_what is your name?_"

Without even thinking I replied, "_Breeana Liddell_,"

In her messy scrawl, the nurse wrote what I assumed to be my response as well as additional information on the forms she had layered on her clipboard. Beaming, she looked back up at me. Her smile was brighter than the sun. "Good job, Breeana. As long as you remember your name, you will be _just_ fine. My next question is—_how old are you?_"

I smiled; another easy question. "_Fifteen_—I'll be sixteen towards the middle of December—December ninth."

"Good job. Body scans suggested that you were approximately fifteen or sixteen years old. My next question is a little more personal, but it's just to make sure that you're in tune with your body, that's all. _When was the last time you menstruated?_"

The nurse asked me a couple more _personal _questions, such as whether or not I had allergies, or whether or not I'd smoked before or tried alcohol. All the body scans the doctors had done on me would've provided them with the answers, but as the nurse said, they were just checking my memory and reminding me of the little important things I may have forgotten.

As I set my glass down on my bedside table, the nurse looked up at me from her clipboard. "You are doing a fantastic job, Breeana. Really, I'm extremely proud of you and your success. So far you've been able to remember the answer to every question I've asked. There are a couple more physical questions here that I'm supposed to ask, but you've done so well on the ones you've answered that I'm going to skip them and ask you the most important question of all."

With a sigh, I released the breath I'd subconsciously been holding. I'd been dreading the question which I knew would come at some point or another, the most _intimate _of all the personal questions she'd asked. Fortunately, someone had heard my prayers and I'd been able to evade answering the question which broke me down every single time and revived memories I wish I didn't have.

"Are you ready, Breeana?" the nurse asked, and I nodded. "Good. This final question is the most important of all the questions I've asked you. This question is also the most difficult to answer of all the questions I've asked you, so I will understand if you're unable to give me a straight answer. The question is—_what is the last thing you remember before you fell unconscious and slipped into a coma? _The first time, I mean. I heard you woke up in surgery and they had to put you to sleep again."

I nodded slowly, leaning back in my bed. The nurse gazed at me expectantly as I scoured my mind for the answer, for the answer to her final interrogative question. What had happened in the final moments before I'd succumbed myself to unconsciousness.

My eyes trailed back to my inner arm, where the IV drip was hooked. Up my arms there were a couple old scars, white with age, but among them was a newer one. One that ran jagged up the length of my arm and was still red with rage. I stared at it, struggling to remember what had caused the rough line, and suddenly, it hit me.

"_The_ _bombing_,"

"Excuse me," the nurse looked up from her clipboard.

"I...I remember the bombing." I whispered.

A frown began to form on the nurse's once sunny face. She looked down at her clipboard uncomfortably before looking back up again. Her face was pale. "A bombing...your last memory was of a bombing?"

I nodded. "Yes. I remember the bombing."

"It was dawn when it happened. I remember returning to the Warehouses after the midnight raids with some of the other _Renegades_. The weather was getting bad early this year, and we were running low on supplies at our hideout and needed to stock up. I was sent out because I was the fastest and most agile of all the other teens. I was the stealthiest of us all and had gotten away with more raids than anyone else in the Warehouses.

"We spent the entire night breaking into and ravaging local shops in search of food, water, medicine and other basic necessities. We lost some kids to the marshals and their high-powered stun guns, but the majority of us made it back uninjured—exhausted, but uninjured.

"When we returned, we were greeted by the majority of the _Renegades_. All those who were healthy enough to walk came out of their Warehouse to see us. Supplies were taken in as many_ Renegades_ traded in their guns for hugs. Tears were shed not only for those we'd lost, but also for those who'd come home alive. I remember both my brothers running up and coming in to hug me, more than glad that I'd returned home once again. I think I'd been about to say something when we heard it—a plane.

"The sun disappeared behind the plane as its giant jets whirled. Normally we would've ignored it, too happy about the success of the raids to care, but this plane flew low overhead. That tipped us off.

"Some started screaming, others running, but it was all too late."

I swallowed hard. "It...It was like slow motion...I...I swear."

My stomach lurched again as I turned to face the nurse, tears beginning to form.

The nurse looked back at me, her face unusually drawn and much paler than before. A multitude of emotions swam through her eyes. Her hand hovered over her clipboard, for how long, I did not know.

"Nurse," I whispered, my voice cracking. The nurse leaned in slowly, expectantly. "Nurse...my brothers...are they alright?"

A line formed between the nurse's eyebrows, "Brothers?"

I nodded, suddenly feeling much more nauseated than before. "My brothers, Adam and Chase, are they alright? They were with me during the bombing. We were holding hands, about to run, when the bomb went off. Adam let go the minute we went up into the air, but Chase never did. Where are they? I want to see them."

The nurse frantically flipped through the forms on her clipboard, eyes scanning each and every one with inhumane speed. Finally the last paper fell onto the deck and the nurse looked back up at me, her face blank. Her voice absent of emotion, she said, "We have no record of your brothers."

My blood went cold.

"There has to be a mistake," I said, my voice eerily calm. "Check again. I have two brothers, Chase and Adam Liddell. Our parents died during the _Raids_ and we are unclaimed minors. Adam was going to claim both Chase and I when he hit legal age next year, but that's not important. What's important was that they were at the bombing with me. If _I _survived that, then so did they."

The nurse looked me straight in the eye, sympathy clouding her milky blues. "There is no mistake, Breeana. Many were saved, but even more died. We have no record of your brothers."

I immediately stopped breathing and began to scream, hysteria quickly consuming my mind like a disease of the brain.

Incoherently I shrieked, unable to pace my words. A flurry of words escaped my lips, tumbling out of my mouth at breakneck speed. The words fell so fast that it quickly became impossible to tell one word from the next. Fragmented sentences became run-ons, and one worded sentences became hundred worded. My throat quickly grew sore and then hoarse, but I continued to scream and the screaming went on, and on, and on.

I was unable to stop screaming. No matter how badly I wanted to, I just couldn't. No matter how many times the nurse shushed me, I just couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to stop screaming, just as I'd been unable to in surgery.

Finally, the nurse snapped, her sympathy for me gone.

She turned on me. Her once warm, blue eyes were now bitingly cold, _icy_, if you would. Her voice sliced through my shrieks, cold and sharp like a knife, silencing me almost immediately. "_Breeana, if you don't calm down right this instant then I'm afraid I'm going to have to sedate you._"

:::

I didn't sleep at all that night.

I lay there with my eyes wide that whole night.

That whole night I lay awake, wondering; wondering what had become of my brothers. I didn't believe for an instant that either of them had died—_no_. They were both out there, somewhere, struggling. Struggling, but surviving.

For so long we'd struggled. After the _Raids_ we fled to the streets, absolutely terrified of what would become of us if the marshals ever caught us. We were unclaimed minors, and unclaimed minors were sent to these camps; these terrible, terrible camps. We knew neither of us would survive there which was why we ran.

Honestly, there were days when none of us thought we'd survive. When Adam was jumped by the gang of _Renegades_, beaten to the point he was near death,we thought he was going to die. When Chase got sick, and remained sick for months on end, there were many times when we thought he was going to die. One night, when I found myself on the ground battered and bruised, bleeding out, I thought I was going to die. But somehow, some way, we'd all survived.

We still had our nightmares—or at least I did—but we kept on going. Our parents taught us never to give up, so we didn't. I knew my brothers were alive somewhere. They would keep on going with or without me, but I hoped that they would at least try to find me.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart!"

I turned as a nurse opened the blinds and drew back the curtains, groaning as I shielded my eyes against the morning sun. I examined the nurse, unfamiliar with the voice, and as expected it was a different one from yesterday.

While she maintained a youthful appearance, this nurse appeared to be somewhat old and more mature than the other nurse with her long, narrow face and deep, hazel eyes. Her long, raven waves were tied up in a high ponytail, which jovially bounced at each and every step. She wore white shoes and blue hospital scrubs with no pattern, and her name tag read _L. Marx_.

A melodic tune escaped her plump, glossed lips as she skimmed the forms she had clipped to her sparkly, pink clipboard. Sensing my stare, the nurse looked up and gave me a sincere smile. "Good morning, sweetheart! You look awfully tired. I'll take it that you didn't sleep too well last night, did you?"

I shrugged and the nurse nodded understandingly. "That's okay. I heard you had a rough night last night, which is completely understandable considering the circumstances. You must be incredibly sore right now; so sore that no amount of morphine will ever be enough to soothe the pain."

I nodded in response and the nurse gave my hand a little squeeze. "You'll be alright soon, sweetheart. I promise. Your body just needs time to heal, that's all. In a few days, you'll barely even remember the pain."

I nodded again and the nurse gave my hand one final squeeze before letting go. As she prepared to leave, with the promise of food for my painfully empty stomach on her lips, the nurse said, "Oh, and when you're feeling up for it, I have a surprise for you. One I'm absolutely sure will significantly brighten your mood."

I gazed at the nurse imploringly as she left the room, wondering what type of surprise she had in store for me, but it was late in the afternoon when I finally decided to ask to see it.

I was still sore, the bruises lacing neat patterns all over my body, and my head still ached, the pounding behind my eyes refusing to decrease its intensity, however, I no longer wanted to keep the poor nurse waiting since she seemed so restless and unfocused, waiting for me to finally give in to my urges and ask for the surprise.

The excitement on the nurse's face when I asked could not be contained.

"I'll be right back," she promised, grinning from ear to ear. "I just have to make sure that everything is set! Then I'll come and get you!"

Before I could even respond, the nurse was gone.

Shortly after, she returned, assuring me that my surprise was now ready for my viewership, a huge grin plastered on her narrow face. After doing a quick onceover of my vitals, the nurse helped me up onto my feet, much more eager than I was to get to my precious surprise.

Unsteadily I swayed, not quite used to being on feet again. I'd spent hours in bed and I could only guess how long I'd been unconscious for since the nurses seemed reluctant to tell me the date. My head still pounded mercilessly, sending waves of nausea and vertigo through me, and making it difficult for me to maintain my balance. It was going to take me a while for me to get used to standing, let alone walking.

Slowly, the nurse and I inched our way to the door and into the hallway. Tightly griping the door frame, turning my knuckles white, I told the nurse to release me. She did as she was told, but remained in close proximity with me just in case I collapsed or something along those lines. I wanted to tell her that I'd be fine, but I wasn't so sure that I would be.

"Okay, so where is it?" I finally managed to choke out between spasms of pain. "Where is the surprise you've talking about?"

It was like slow motion. I swear.

The nurse clapped twice and two figures emerged, slowly ambling forward, making their way towards us. For the first few moments I was confused, wondering if behind these people was my gift. But the moment our eyes locked, I knew, in that instant, that these people _were_ my gift.

My heart soared.

They looked so broken. Both boys were littered in bruises, like an apple which had been dropped a few too many times. Adam's right eye was dark, swollen to the point it was nearly shut, and a row of neatly placed stitches spanned across his forehead. His right arm was broken, forced into an old fashioned cast and sling. Chase was limping, one foot heavily bandaged. A long row of stitches marred his otherwise flawless face, running from his temple all the way down to his jaw in a jagged line across his cheek.

For a moment I felt self-conscious, wondering how broken I appeared to my brothers with all my scars, stitches and bruises, but as they approached, inching closer and closer, my self-consciousness fled me. In its place was a joy I hadn't felt in days.

"Thank you," I whispered, turning towards the nurse. "Thank you _so _much."

The nurse released a high tinkling laugh. "Oh no, sweetheart. It wasn't me. You have Nurse Wight to thank. She spent hours looking for those two, seeing how heartbroken you were without them. I was just the delivery girl."

The blonde nurse, she had been the one to set this all up. My heart swelled. The next time I saw her, a heartfelt _thank_ _you_ would be in order—and a hug.

I hugged Adam first, allowing him to take me up into him and squeeze me as tight as he could with one arm, never letting me go. It hurt being hugged by Adam, it really and truly did hurt, but the pain of being hugged was one I could endure. It was the pain of losing my older brother that I couldn't.

"We missed you," He muttered into my hair as he put me down.

"I missed you guys too," I breathed, and I meant it.

I pulled Chase into my arms, hugging him tightly, never wanting to let go. Chase was hesitant at first, remaining rigid and stiff in my arms, but he quickly gave in, sinking deep into my arms. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me with not quite as much power as Adam had. He seemed to be aware that I was in pain.

"We were so worried about you," Chase whispered as we finally pulled away. "Seriously, we were so scared."

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. "I was worried about you guys too,"

* * *

_:::** A/N **:::_

**Chapter One, complete.**

**I hope you all enjoyed reading the first chapter of _InOrganic_ as much as I enjoyed writing it. **

**As for the FanFiction itself, it takes place in an alternate universe where war and conspiracy has devestated most of America. The _Raids _left many cities in shambles, broken beyond repair. Those who were lucky enough to survive the _Raids_, such as the Lab Rats, were sent to internment camps for questioning. Those who were even luckier managed to escape, becoming _Renegades_. The majority of _Renegades_ were youth who'd managed to escape with their parents' aid. The Lab Rats' own experience will be explored later on. **

**This FanFiction also centers on Bree and her own personal struggles. I toyed around with her characterization a smidge. I changed some aspects but left others the same. Bree will try to recapture parts of her old personality (the one more akin to the one in the show) with mixed results. A lot has changed since she was thirteen, when the _Raid _occured. **

**The next chapter will feature the DavenDooley Family (complete with Eddy!) so look out for that. I'd also like to say that the Lab Rats' and their bionic abilities will also be explored, especially with Davenport involved. Part of the reason the Rats are even in this situation is because of their abilities.**

**So once again I'd like to personally thank you all for reading, and please review! I'd also like to suggest paying a visit to the AlphaBetaSoup Official Blog at _alpha-and-beta-soup . tumblr . com_ to get information on my next updates and a couple sneak peeks. **

_**ALPHA**_


End file.
